Zombie Attack

The infection began in Alberta. It may have had foreign roots, but we have always had borders and for more than two and a half centuries demonstrated an immunity to the viler political discourse of those nearby. The first wave spread quickly to neighbouring provinces, then stopped, apparently held in check by a natural resistance in the older, provinces. Places where the malaise had run its course in years gone by seemed less vulnerable. But in the end, lacking any defensive procedures, its persistence got the better of us. The whole country found itself with a mild form of the infection.

Four years later, the full blown epidemic surprised many. The zombies took control.

In retrospect we should have seen it. If vitriol and lies were not enough. the mindless singularity of purpose was as clear a red flag as could be waved. Clearly the uninfected among us could have self-diagnosed and found some form of prescription. Even if it tasted like Buckley's™.

But, like the smiling blondes in many cinematic versions, we believed the nice people next door were fine despite the red eyes and open sores and, hoping for the best, invited them in. Or we simply locked ourselves in, not venturing from home to poll.

Few neighbourhoods were spared. Different from flu epidemics, the oldest and youngest among us, the culturally self-quarantined Quebec and Newfoundland, were less susceptible, as were many of the areas generally ignored by the majority.

These disease-resistant pockets do offer some hope a cure may be found before the last of us loses the battle and Canada as we know it withers and dies.